


It's Only You (For Dinner, Breakfast, and Lunch)

by colazitron



Series: 2015 December Holiday Fic Countdown [15]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5434112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Troye and Connor have been married for fifty-eight days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only You (For Dinner, Breakfast, and Lunch)

Troye woke up slowly, limbs stretching against the fatigue in his muscles before he even started to blink his eyes open to the new day. The sun was filtered by their curtains, but there was still a slim strip of it that fell across their bed, lighting up Connor’s calf, a stretch of his shoulder blade and his tousled hair.

The smile spread Troye’s lips giddily without him meaning to or having any way to fight it off. Even years into their relationship, there was still that part of his heart that fluttered every time he got to wake up next to Connor, every morning he got to start by listening to him breathe, by watching his body come back into wakefulness slowly. No matter how long Troye slept – and a glance at his phone revealed it to be past nine – Connor never seemed to wake before him. He could really sleep for the nation. Olympic sleeper right there next to him in the bed.

Caught between wanting to reach out and touch and wanting to leave Connor peaceful and undisturbed, Troye rolled over slowly, trying not to jostle the mattress too much. He could just get up and make breakfast. Brew a fresh cup of coffee, mash some avocados, scramble some eggs, set up some oatmeal.

Somehow though, Troye found himself rooted to the bed, watching the steady and shallow rise and fall of Connor’s back with every breath he took, feeling his giddy smile shrink into something gentler, until the warmth filled him up from the tips of his hair to the tips of his toes and fingers. All of his body, glowing with the thought that Connor was his, as much as a human being could belong to another, and that he had accepted Troye in return. Was there anything more miraculous than that?

“Baby,” he murmured, voice still rough over the first word of the day, ghosting his lips over the exposed part of Connor’s shoulder and letting his nose trail up over the nape of his neck, breathing in the faint smell of shampoo that still clung to Connor’s hair.

“Wake up, Connie.”

Connor stirred a little, shifting away from the ticklish touch, arm twitching as though he were fighting off the wakefulness creeping in.

“Wakey-wakey,” Troye whispered, pressing kisses along the line of Connor’s spine, dragging the duvet off him slowly.

It fascinated him, the way he’d known Connor’s body intimately for years, and the way both of their bodies must have changed, and yet, through constant exposure, Troye has never been able to detect any of those changes as they were happening. He supposed the definition in Connor’s face must have crept in at some point, and the sharper lines of his shoulders and arms snuck up on Troye every time he saw photos of them from years ago, when they’d only just met. He knew Connor then and he knows Connor now, but the difference between the two – the difference between the Troye of then and the one of now – sometimes struck him with a solidity that surprised him. Time didn’t really seem to pass with Connor, and yet, when faced with the proof that it had, all Troye could ever feel was grateful that he got to spend all of it with this wonderful man.

This wonderful man, who was starting to stir, hand brushing over the sheets on its way to rub the sleep from Connor’s eyes as he rolled over.

The light caught the golden glint on Connor’s ring finger, bringing the giddy butterflies back to Troye’s stomach.

He reached to grab for Connor’s wrist, leaning down to press a sweet kiss first to the back of Connor’s hand, then his knuckles, and finally the ring that sat there, proclaiming him for everyone to see to be Troye’s.

“Morning, babe,” Connor smiled, voice scratchy and sending all kinds of shivers down Troye’s spine.

“Good morning,” Troye said back, opening his mouth around Connor’s ring finger. He held Connor’s fond gaze as he closed his lips around it, tongue and teeth playing with the ring for just a second or two before he moved on to the next finger.

“You’re insatiable,” Connor said, chuckling fondly, but his eyes were dark and fixed on Troye’s lips.

“We’re honeymooning,” Troye said, lacing his fingers with Connor’s damp ones before leaning down for a kiss that turned filthy easily, lazy strokes of their tongues that ignored any hint of morning breath, making Troye get up on his knees to slide closer, throw one leg on Connor’s other side to straddle him.

“We got back three weeks ago,” Connor pointed out when Troye pulled back from the kiss, sliding his hips lower very deliberately until he came to sit astride Connor’s, ass pressing down on him more than just a little suggestively.

They did come back from their honeymoon three weeks ago. Twenty-four days ago, if one wanted to be exact. They’d been married for fifty-eight days now, and Troye still felt awed at the thought every time he saw Connor’s face, his smile, the ring on his finger. Truth be told, everything with Connor had always felt like honeymooning – even the bad times they hadn’t been entirely able to avoid.

“I got married to the love of my life,” he whispered into the skin of Connor’s chest, nuzzling his face into the sleep warm scent of it and pressing a kiss to Connor’s sternum before looking up to catch his eyes. “I’m honeymooning until death do us part.”

Connor had always been the cheesy one between them, twirling Troye in Minnesota’s first snow, kissing him on top of the Eiffel Tower, proposing on their goddamn anniversary – but that didn’t mean that Troye didn’t know how to express his emotions, or that he refused to do so. Why would he, when Connor blushed the loveliest pink?

“So are you going to _take me_ to be your husband?” he teased, moving back up to ghost his lips over Connor’s in an imitation of a kiss.

“Thought I already did,” Connor grinned, following Troye when he sat up as though connected by an invisible string. They probably were.

Troye grinned, kissing Connor and winding his arms around his neck, pressing their chests closer together, as Connor’s arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close.

“So take me again.”

 

****

The End

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**Author's Note:**

> Come leave me a [prompt](http://fille-lioncelle.tumblr.com/ask) if you feel like it!


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